


You stirred somethin’ in me, I admit defeat

by Toomanyfandoms99



Series: Supernatural Season 15 Codas [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Coda, Episode: s15e14 Last Holiday, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Secret Identity, Unrequited, quantico
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:34:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26922208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toomanyfandoms99/pseuds/Toomanyfandoms99
Summary: A text greets Castiel in the morning: ‘Still busy?’He leaves it alone.  He casts his suit jacket over his shoulders in his apartment.  His shift, Ryan’s shift, starts soon.A second text appears a moment later: ‘It turns out that the Men of Letters had help from a wood nymph.’
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Supernatural Season 15 Codas [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1517966
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	You stirred somethin’ in me, I admit defeat

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t written for the Supernatural fandom since quarantine started. I was feeling uninspired and, as a result, I’ve been traipsing around in the Star Wars fandom. 
> 
> I’m back, though, and I’m going to do a short coda for each of these final episodes. I’m sure I’ll write more after this beloved series ends, which I’ll forever be indebted to for helping me hone my writing skills, but it’ll be infrequent.
> 
> My goal was to write this as quickly as possible to get it out there, especially because work and college have me busy, so any mistakes are all mine.
> 
> The title was taken from the song “Admit Defeat” by Bastille.

Castiel rifles through case files at Quantico. Ryan Rogers is an investigative agent on supernatural events. He has an entire cabinet dedicated to ‘unexplained’ occurrences throughout the midwestern United States going back centuries. Ryan, his alter ego, has done a lot of the case building himself, writing extensive reports before photographs of each monster “found dead” were added to the end of each portfolio. 

Ryan’s network of hunters have been hard at work taking down Chuck’s monstrosities; he communicates with them via his angel powers. He sends mental check-ins. They reply by faxing symbols in his native language, Enochian. So far, what few of his species are left have not caught wind of his tight-knit alliance with the hunters.

Castiel reads through tabs: Homocide, Suicide, Disappearances, Reappearances. He settles on Mysteries and pulls out the portfolio. His elbow shuts the cabinet drawer. 

He turns and walks over to the wooden study table. He lowers himself into a seat that was already yanked back. He uses his leg to pull the chair to the table as he sits and places the files down.

A call on his smartphone pierces the quiet room. He has too much to lose. He does not answer it.

————

“Ryan?”

Castiel looks up at the Unexplained Division secretary, Tracy. “Yes, ma’am?”

The woman blushes at being addressed properly. “You received a call from a,” she glances down at her clipboard to what was written on a post-it, “Agent Halen?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I’ll return his call after my meeting.”

He doesn’t.

————

Billie whispers in his ear at night. Threatens him. Taunts him. Says she’ll tell you-know-who about the secret.

Castiel ignores her. The blare of crime shows at two in the morning drowns her out.

————

A text greets Castiel in the morning: ‘Still busy?’

He leaves it alone. He casts his suit jacket over his shoulders in his apartment. His shift, Ryan’s shift, starts soon.

A second text appears a moment later: ‘It turns out that the Men of Letters had help from a wood nymph.’

Castiel arches an interested brow. He stays away from the bunker because they make everything hurt, but the information piqued his curiosity. He hates himself for blinking down at the phone, resting on the coffee table, waiting and waiting.

A third text: ‘She tried to kill Jack to protect us.’

He knows that would get Castiel’s attention. And it works; Castiel lifts his phone and unlocks it.

Castiel types: ‘And?’

He wants to see Jack. Of course he does. It’s just hard to speak to the nephilim without his own emotions rising up. The bunker provides plenty of conflict, especially due to its inhabitants. Castiel trusts them to care for Jack while he runs away from his feelings, like always when he is around them for too long, but they clutch his beating heart and wrench him of energy, leaving him in a state of emotional exhaustion. 

He does not go back on his word, though, to help them; the sick part of him gets excited, sometimes, seeing them after the weeks stretch into months. It is not their fault Castiel’s mind is in a constant tug-of-war between telling them and not telling them.

Bubbles appear on the bottom of the messenger window. Castiel can almost hear a relieved sigh from you-know-who.

The text pops up: ‘Jack’s shaken up.’

Dean’s request between the lines resounds in Castiel’s mind. He sighs. He has to set aside his feelings, remain tight-lipped about his two-fold secret, yet again. It has been longer than usual without meeting up for a hunt, however. Castiel should have built up his mental walls earlier in preparation, but he would have to try his best.

Castiel replies: ‘I’ll be there tonight.’

He admits defeat.

————

She whispers to him again. She cannot make up her mind. “Tell him how you really feel.” “Hush, I want you to suffer.” “Confess to the deal.” “Watch him crumble before you.” “Turn him away just so you can crush his heart.” “He doesn’t love you.” “You’re a pathetic little seraphim.”

The drive is infinitely longer with Billie rattling around in his head. Castiel grips the wheel and bears it as best as he can. He listens to the sound of a soothing GPS narrator. 

But all they do is blend.

“He hates you.” “On the next turn in zero point six miles, make a right.” “You will never fulfill your greatest dream.” “Go straight for five miles.” “You will never get to kiss the Righteous Man. Touch him. Feel him. Get him to love you as you are, not as a monster with the blood of billions drowning your true form.” 

“You missed your last turn. Please make a U-turn and redirect course.”

————

Castiel pushes open the weighty bunker door. It is late, but they never sleep. It wouldn’t matter to them.

His tired eyes bat around the war room, leaning over the balcony. The lamps are at full blast to brighten books and old documents.

They are all there: Dean, Jack, and Sam. A little hunter unit. If there were not a chair clearly meant for him at the table, Castiel would wonder about his place here, or there, or anywhere.

Dean is the one who looks up at the balcony. Castiel wears his usual indifferent expression as a grin splits Dean’s face open.

“Cas!” Dean’s eyes glimmer, his teeth too bright to regard for more than a beat.

Castiel purses his lips sourly. Sam and Jack’s greetings filter into his profile. He descends, gaze cast on his shiny shoes and the stairs. He forgot to change out of his other identity’s shoes, Ryan’s shoes.

He reaches level ground. Castiel lifts up his expression as he reaches the war room table.

He walks right towards Dean, standing by his seat. He lowers his head and crosses his arms.

Dean clears his throat, his smile wiping off his face. The upturn at the corner of his mouth is hesitant.

“Okay,” Dean holds up his hands, splaying his palms by his shoulders, “did I lie to get you here? Yes. But what was I supposed to do?”

“Not compromise my position at Quantico,” Castiel says evenly, “which, now that I’m thinking about it,” he glares at Jack, “I said not to tell them, young man.”

Jack glances at the tabletop sheepishly at the chastisement. “I’m sorry. I was worried about you.”

Castiel sighs in admission. “Fine. I apologize.”

“Okay,” Jack mumbles.

Castiel’s phone rings. He takes a step back to procure his smartphone out of his trench coat. It is Quantico.

Castiel’s eyes are naturally guided towards Dean’s worried expression. He blinks down and answers with a gruff “Agent Rogers.”

“Sir,” Tracy says, “I have something.”

Castiel shares looks with Dean, Sam, and Jack. He is both glad and dreading this next incident with them.

He prompts, “go ahead.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated!


End file.
